


Family Problems

by Jay Trent (Bluewolf458)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Jay%20Trent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Doyle on leave to deal with a family problem, Bodie resigns...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Problems

Nobody knew exactly what had happened.

All anyone knew was that there had been an almighty row between Bodie and the Old Man - raised voices were heard but nobody except perhaps Betty was close enough to make out the words, and it was easier to pry a limpet off a rock than persuade Betty to open her mouth regarding anything she considered private. This would most certainly come into that category. It terminated with Bodie marching out of Cowley's office, banging the door behind him so hard that it bounced open again, and then stamping his way through the rest room, anger in every line, ignoring all four of his fellow agents there and also Cowley's sharp, "Bodie! Come back here!"

Murphy made half a move to stop him; caught the glare in Bodie's eyes and thought better of it. Only Doyle could handle his partner when he was in that sort of mood - but Doyle was absent on compassionate leave; his sister and her husband seriously injured in a car crash and still hospitalised, their five-year-old daughter unconscious with horrendous head injuries, his mother totally distraught and unable to cope with her terrified six-year-old grandson whose nightmare-induced screams disturbed every night. Young Raymond - named after his uncle, to his uncle's disgust - had escaped physically unhurt, but mentally he was badly affected.

The driver of the other car, who had been speeding and taken a blind comer on his wrong side, had been killed instantly.

Appealed to by his mother after four sleepless nights, Doyle had requested leave a week previously; under the circumstances, Cowley granted it, with a compassion that surprised the younger man. Doyle had taken charge of the stricken household, staying up at night to calm his nephew and sleeping during the day, and there was no sign that he would be able to return to duty for several more weeks.

As Bodie disappeared, McCabe muttered unnecessarily, "Wonder what all that was about?"

"Probably just Bodie missing his other half," Anson suggested, "though I'm surprised he'd take it out on the Cow." "

"Sounded more serious than that," Lucas put in.

Cowley appeared in the doorway. "Murphy - a word with you."

Murphy followed Cowley back into his office, and stiffened as he saw the RT, ID, car keys and gun lying on Cowley's desk. Cowley noticed the direction of the agent's eyes and grunted.

"Aye, Bodie resigned," he growled. "And maybe it's just as well. I heard from a reliable source that he'd been selling information on CI5 procedure and some of our operations to his old mercenary friends. Oh, a lot of it wouldn't have been much use to them, but there's no doubt some of it would have helped them to avoid the authorities. I'm just surprised that Doyle didn't get suspicious."

"You don't think Doyle was helping him, surely?"

"Doyle? No. Doyle'd never do anything like that. He fingered at least one bent copper when he was still in the Met. No. Bodie somehow managed to fool him, too, as well as me. I'd have sworn he was straight ..."

"It's going to be hard on Doyle when he comes back. Any word on when, sir?"

"No. There's been no change there. His sister and brother-in-law are expected to make a full recovery, he knows that much, but it'll be a while yet. His niece is still unconscious. "Now, I'd like you to take over the job Bodie was supposed to be working on. There's the information he's compiled - but you'd maybe better start from scratch just to make sure he hasn't missed anything out to help some of his old friends."

Cowley, thought Murphy, must be really annoyed to be saying all that to me! We always thought Bodie was his blue-eyed boy, too ...

Almost as if he could read Murphy's thoughts, Cowley went on, "And to think he had me believing he was... No, CI5's well rid of him. Just pass the word round that he's left, resigned and walked out in a temper.

"Yes, sir." Murphy could still hardly grasp that one hard fact - Cowley, thinking of Bodie as an informant against CI5. And if he was, he had to be a damn' good actor for Doyle not to have realised it.

***

As he reached the street, Bodie automatically felt in his pocket for his car keys then swore as he remembered he had thrown them onto Cowley's desk along with his ID and gun. In any case, with his resignation still undoubtedly ringing in Cowley's ears, he no longer had the right to drive a CI5 car. He swung right, strode past the car he had driven to work that morning, and marched on down the street, thinking furiously. He would have to be out of his flat in very short order, too.

His first thought, to hole up in Doyle's flat for a day or two, even leave things like his TV there, he immediately dismissed. The less he had to do with CI5 and CI5's property the better. He went into an estate agent's and emerged shortly after with the key to a two-room furnished flat in a not very salubrious part of town, but at least it had the merit of being cheap. He headed for the flat that had been his home for the last five months and quickly packed his clothes into two suitcases. He glanced round. Did he want anything else? He had always been used to travelling light; he could do without virtually everything here, abandoning it without a second thought, except ...

He selected four books, put them into one of the cases and closed it. Then he threw the house keys onto the table and left, the yale locking the door behind him.

An hour later, he was unpacking again in the small, not-very-clean flat that was now his home. His clothes unpacked, the books placed carefully on the sideboard in the living room, he checked over the place. The electric fire was small but adequate, though whether it would still be adequate in the winter vas another matter. Oh well, winter was still six or seven months away; with luck he wouldn't be here then. The small fridge did work. Only two of the four rings on the cooker were operating, though; while the grill barely gave off enough heat to warm a slice of bread, let alone toast it; and the oven didn't work either. He could survive that easily enough; just have to make sure he didn't buy any ready meals that needed to be cooked in the oven. He switched on the immersion heater, glad to note that its light did come on.

He went out shopping.

The nearest grocer was a run-down place stocking only the cheapest brands, and only a limited selection of those; he made a mental note that finding somewhere carrying a rather better range would have to be a top priority. He could eat most things if he had to - even if life in Africa had not knocked all trace of squeamishness out of him, his SAS training would have - but a lot of the cheapest food had a tastelessness he preferred to avoid. He normally kept a stock of food in; it had been running low, and he would have been restocking soon anyway, but he really should have brought what was left away with him. He shrugged off the thought; ignoring it as immaterial. However, he was able to stock up on basic food and cleaning materials and, returning to the flat, he spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the place - the immersion-heated water was at least warm rather than tepid, though it could hardly be called hot. Everything still looked dingy when he had finished, but at least it was as clean as he could get it.

He was not really hungry, but he hadn't eaten since breakfast time, so he fried himself an egg and some bacon and forced himself to eat.

*Damn Cowley anyway!* he thought, but there was no force behind it. He had, after all, known what he was doing and what the consequences could be.

His meal finished, he put the dishes in the sink, squirted washing-up liquid over them, then filled the sink with warm water and left everything to soak while he went in search of a pub.

He ignored the first two or three he passed, finally entering one that looked to be of sawdust-and-spittoon quality. Inside it was gloomy, badly lit, with a poor selection of drinks at the back of the bar. The barman was already serving someone and he took the opportunity to look at what was available, noting that the couple of brands whose names he recognised were cheap rot-gut. What the brands he didn't recognise were like, he decided he preferred not to know. When the barman turned to him, he ordered beer. He was unsurprised to find it a weak, unappetising brew. Well, so much the better, he thought. He could drink this all night and not get even mildly sozzled.

He found a seat in a comer and sat scowling at his half-drunk pint. A professional gambler beginning to head his way changed his mind and veered off in search of a more amiable drunk; Bodie didn't even notice. He was fully occupied wondering just what his next move should be.

He took a long pull at his beer, put the glass back on the table and looked round. There were two men sitting nearby - one of them he recognised from his mercenary days, while the other was a face that had been decorating the CI5 noticeboard for weeks.

He finished his beer and went back to the bar for another; but instead of returning to his table, he paused beside the man he knew.

"Hello, Bert. Didn't know you were back in England," he said. He had never been on more than nodding terms with Bert Younger - they had never actually worked together though they had met several times - but from the little he had seen he quite liked the man, although feeling that Younger was someone who could be easily led. In passing he gave a polite nod to the man with Younger.

"Will Bodie! Hell, it's a small world... Heard you'd gone legit?"

"Well - yes and no. Didn't have any skills but fighting, did I? Joined the army when I got back from Africa, but even in the Paras there's only so much you can do in peacetime - just training, training, training; gets right monotonous after a while. Went into a security job after that, but I've just chucked it; have you any idea how boring it is guarding stuff nobody's likely to try pinching or men nobody's likely to try taking out? I've half a mind to try Africa again, or maybe South America for a change."

"Nah. Nobody's employing mercs these days," Younger told him. "Everyone's going for the 'patriotism' lark - persuading their own men to fight. It's cheaper. Just before I left I was seein' boys as young as nine or ten carrying guns, proud as anything to be fightin' for their country."

Bodie made a face. "Now that's taking the bread out of honest fighting men's mouths," he grumbled.

"Isn't it just. So we're all havin' to look for employment somewhere else. But there's plenty of jobs for men like us, Will - if you know where to look."

"Well, I could certainly do with a push in the right direction," Bodie growled. "Should really have worked my notice, I suppose, while I looked for something else, but my boss - my ex boss - got up my nose something chronic so I just told him to stuff it and walked out." He shook his head. "Worked for next to nothing, too. Security work's always badly paid. Tell you, Bert, my next job I want something that pays better'n a pittance." He downed half his beer. "Nice seein' you again. Come here often?"

"Sometimes," Younger's companion said. "But we've not seen you 'ere before." "That's 'cause I've not been here before. But I've just moved to a flat not too far from here so I'll be coming here quite a bit." He looked wryly at his drink. "Beer's not too brilliant but it's cheap."

"Who did you work for before you walked out?"

Bodie glared at him. "Don't see it's any of your business, mate," he growled, "seein' as how I don't know you from the Queen of Sheba."

"Ah, don't be like that, Will," Younger butted in. "This is Andy Thorsten. Andy, Will Bodie."

The two men exchanged guarded nods, acknowledging the introduction.

Younger went on. "You know, Will, my boss needs a man - he could maybe see his way to giving you a job on my say-so, seeing as you're an ex-merc, but he'll want to check on you first, o' course. You know what it's like. Not many o' the merc bosses would take on someone cold - they always checked you out first. Your background if nothing else, if you were new to the game."

"True." Bodie shrugged. "All right, for what it's worth, I was with CIS - for my sins; it was the only near-fighting job I could get - and I regretted every damned last day of it. Like I said, the work was boring - and underpaid. It was a ruddy con trick - not what I thought I was going into at all."

"I've heard CIS does a lot of anti-terrorist work," Thorsten commented.

"Sure. Guarding wog diplomats with more imagination than sense, blokes looking for bodyguards they don't bloody need - made them feel important orderin' white men around. Fools jumping at shadows. A kid's outing would be more exciting."

Thorsten grunted. "And you told... 's Cowley, ain't it?... that 'e could 'stuff it'. Pleased, was 'e?"

"Let's just say my chance of getting any sort of work in my line of business is about nil right now."

Younger grinned. "Tell you what, Will. Be in here tomorrow night at the same time - I might have an offer for you by then. My boss isn't British, but he's not a wog either - British born, Italian extraction. That okay by you?"

"It's okay. An' thanks. Cheers, mate." He half saluted him with his beer glass, drained it, and walked out, depositing the glass on a table as he went.

Thorsten watched him go.

"'ow well did you know 'im, Bert?"

"Not that well - we only ever met at base when we were both looking for another job - but if you're saying do I trust him, the answer's yes. He was always well thought of in Africa,. never had any trouble finding a berth. Always stayed completely loyal to the man who'd bought his services - an' that wasn't as common as you might think. A lot of men changed sides half-way through something if the other side offered more. Not a bad bloke to have at your back, Will Bodie."

Bodie made his way back to his new home quietly pleased. Yes, things were looking quite satisfactory.

In his flat he boiled a kettle and splashed hot water over the dishes in the sink, washed them, left them to drip dry and settled in the least uncomfortable chair with a can of beer that was almost as weak as the stuff in the pub, and one of his books. Refusing to think about the events of the day, he soon lost himself in the adventures of Ratty, Mole, Toad and Badger.

***

Next day he returned to the pub. Younger was there on his own and grinned as Bodie joined him. "Mr Vicenti wants to meet you," he said. "That looks promisin' - just watch what you say to him and how you say it, and you should be quids in."

"Great!" Bodie grinned. "Thanks, mate!"

Younger had a car nearby; he drove well, Bodie noted, even observing the speed limits. They eventually pulled up in the grounds of a big house. The door opened as they approached it; a butler stood there.

"Mr Vicenti is expecting you, gentlemen. He is in the study."

Younger nodded. "Thanks." He led Bodie a short way along a corridor, knocked at a door and pushed it open immediately.

Bodie gave a very quick glance round as he entered. The room's very simplicity bespoke good taste. A man sat at a desk to one side of a large fireplace - and on this cool spring day there was a fire burning in it.

Younger crossed to the desk. "This is Will Bodie, sir. Will, Mr Vicenti."

Vicenti studied Bodie for some moments. "Younger tells me you are looking for work. That you are an experienced soldier."

"Yes, Mr Vicenti."

"Why did you leave your previous employment - CIS, I understand?"

"Cowley accused me of disloyalty, of selling information on CIS, sir. Younger will tell you; I've always had a reputation for loyalty. I was annoyed by his accusation, that he didn't trust me - I walked out."

Vicenti nodded; Bodie was suddenly sure that somehow he had already heard that, and had only asked to test his prospective employee's honesty. "The fact that you worked for CIS could be a recommendation," he said. Then, abruptly, "Have you any particular scruples?"

"I won't have anything to do with victimising kids. I saw too much of that in Africa. Other than that - I'll do anything."

"Other than that, you don't mind what you do? Even if it's not - er - 'legit'?"

"Legit?" Bodie smiled coldly. "I've tried that road. It's a mug's game and it doesn't even pay well."

"I see. You enjoy money?"

"I enjoy the good things I can buy with sufficient money, sir."

"Gambling?" The tone was only mildly curious, calculated to get an unconsidered answer, but Bodie knew that it was an important question.

"No, sir. Maybe a fiver each way on the Derby or the Grand National. Or a fifty pence bet with a friend. Serious gambling doesn't attract me at all. The House always wins. No - a gourmet meal, fine wine, a good seat in the theatre - things like that."

"You are a wise man, Bodie. You have many friends?"

"No. I should have said 'with an acquaintance'. I usually get on well enough with the people I work with, and I was pretty friendly with the man I was partnered with in CIS - but he's gone north indefinitely. It's possible he won't even be coming back to London; but if he does - well, he's CIS through and through - went there from the Met. He won't want to know me now I've quit." The thought of never seeing Doyle again was not welcome, but he wasn't about to admit that; besides, he had known when he marched out of Cowley's office what the consequences might be.

"Does that bother you?"

"I've never lumbered myself with any possessions I would regret leaving behind if necessary - including emotional ones." *Not entirely true,* he thought. *I do regret losing Ray... but his family needs him, may continue to need him for years.* "I'm like Kipling's cat, sir."

"The cat who walked by himself? Yes. Self-sufficient. I like that. Where are you staying?"

Bodie gave him the address. "I needed somewhere cheap quickly, sir. I do have money saved, but I didn't want to use more of it than necessary while I was looking for work."

"Prudent, too. Unusual in a mercenary."

"As I said, sir, I enjoy certain things. Careful handling of my money has always made sense to me, so that I can continue to enjoy them, if not on a regular basis, at least from time to time."

Vicenti looked at him for some moments longer, then nodded. "Very well, Bodie. I like you." He opened a drawer in the desk and took out a bundle of notes. "An advance on your salary. Find yourself somewhere better to stay as soon as possible. Let Younger know where you are as soon as you have another flat. Younger, give Bodie your address when you leave here."

"Yes, sir," Younger said.

"Thank you, Mr Vicenti. You won't regret employing me."

"You may go."

Outside, Younger grinned triumphantly at Bodie. "You made a good impression there, mate."

"He seems a nice bloke." He glanced at the money still in his hand, and pulled out his wallet. At first sight it might seem that Vicenti was too trusting, but Bodie knew better; this too was a test, and if he tried to disappear someone would hunt him down in pretty short order and terminate him. Putting the now-full wallet back in his packet, he grinned back at Younger. "Right, mate - better give me your address. Then I'm going house-hunting."

***

He moved into his second new flat two days later. This one was far more upmarket while not being too expensive; once again it came furnished, but this one was clean, had a newish-looking electric fire and everything in the kitchen worked properly. He had also found a nearby supermarket - not too large, but carrying everything he was likely to want. Then he reported his whereabouts to Younger.

Next day he received a summons from Vicenti, and his first assignment - a simple minding job. Vicenti was visiting a business contact he had some doubts about; Bodie and Younger were to accompany him.

It was the start of a not-too-arduous period in his life; all Bodie basically had to do was stand in the background with whoever his current fellow-minder was - there seemed to be about a dozen in all, who were rotated on a regular basis - looking ever-so-slightly menacing while Vicenti carried out whatever business concerned him that day. As far as Bodie could make out, Vicenti was primarily a top-level fence, directing men to steal from certain specific houses - rather like Marge Harper, he thought - but Vicenti had the same time both more flair than Marge and less.

Of all the men he worked with, the only one he could not like was Thorsten. There was nothing he could put a finger on; he just did not trust him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that his face, if not his name, was known to the various law-enforcement agencies.

One day, about ten days into his employment with Vicenti, he was on duty with Younger. While their employer had lunch, Bodie seized the chance to ask Younger about Thorsten.

Younger shrugged. "Dunno, mate. He was already working for Mr Vicenti when I got my job with him; a lot of Mr Vicenti's orders come through him. I was lucky though - managed to stop someone topping the boss one day not long after I got the job, and that knocked me up to one of his top men right away. But I don't think anyone really likes Andy. He doesn't usually drink much, but if he does get drunk he can be awkward."

Bodie grunted. "So it's not just me."

"No, it's not just you. Damned if I know why, though. You know what it was like in the mercs - there were always one or two nobody would pal up with, no obvious reason. Good fighters, never shirked - but... Andy's a bit like that. He and I are sort of thrown together because we're Mr Vicenti's top men. If it wasn't for that, I wouldn't have anything to do with him off duty."

"But Mr Vicenti trusts him?"

"Must do. But that's not why he's not liked. Hell, I'm one of the top men and I get on all right with everyone."

"Yeah. I'll tell you, Bert, the other men trust you. We never fought together in Africa - 's a pity, I think we could have made a good team." It was the truth - Younger would always have followed where he, Bodie, led, and he would certainly have guarded his partner's back.

Younger nodded. "You could be right. You were always known as a good man to have on your side."

They fell silent again as they waited for their employer to finish his meal.

***

Ray Doyle parked his car in a lucky space just outside his flat and switched off the ignition with a tired sigh. For a few moments he just sat, relaxing after a drive that had been unusually tiring - there had been no obvious reason why the motorway had been so busy, but his concentration had been stretched to the limit for the last hour and more - although his state of mind had not helped. Added to everything else was a feeling of hurt that after the first three or four days Bodie had made no attempt to contact him - not even to let him know that he was going on a job that would leave him out of touch.

Finally moving, he got out of the car. Stretching luxuriously, he retrieved his case from the boot, locked the doors and headed for home, hoping that Bodie - who had been unobtainable by phone - had got his letter in time to get some food in and turn the heating on for him. Late spring it might be, warm it was not.

The chill of a two-months-empty house hit him the moment he opened the door, and he swore mildly. Obviously Bodie had either not received his letter, or he was indeed on a job that hadn't given him enough time to prepare the place for his partner.

He turned on the heating and checked the fridge, just in case. Empty. He sighed, unsurprised, resigned, and headed out again for the nearest supermarket. As he pulled out of the parking space he mentally crossed his fingers that it would still be there on his return; he didn't enjoy carrying several bags of shopping further than the barest minimum distance.

He was lucky, however; when he returned a little more than an hour later, that space wasn't there but another one, just as convenient, was.

The chill was off the house by then, and he busied himself putting away the groceries and unpacking his bag while he waited twenty minutes for the ready meal he had selected for its convenience to cook. A few things went into the laundry basket, but his mother had washed all his dirty clothes just a couple of days previously, so there was very little to do.

He ate almost mechanically, hungry but not really enjoying his meal. His sister and brother-in-law were out of hospital, although they would be staying with Mrs Doyle for several weeks yet; but his young niece had finally lost her struggle to survive, and had died without ever regaining consciousness. When he went to the hospital to collect the death certificate, the doctor, having ascertained that he was not the child's father but 'only' an uncle, had told him that quite frankly it was a mercy she had died, because with brain damage such as she had suffered she would have been little more than a vegetable had she ever regained consciousness. He had not passed that information on, but it was weighing on him now, for - little though he had ever seen of her - he had been fond of the child.

The meal finished, he reached for the phone and dialled Bodie's number. There was no answer. He let the phone ring for some time in case his partner was in the shower, but eventually he hung up, surprised at how much more depressed he felt for not being able to speak to Bodie. Then he shrugged and dialled CIS HQ to report his return to London.

***

When he entered the building the next morning he was mildly surprised by the way the other agents seemed to be avoiding him. Murphy called a greeting from across the rest room but then instantly turned his attention back to his conversation with Lewis. As he headed for Cowley's office, the thought flashed through his mind that maybe Bodie had been hurt, perhaps even seriously, and that none of the others wanted to be the one to tell him.

Cowley looked up as he entered. "How are things at home, Doyle?"

Doyle shook his head. "As well as you could expect, sir. Kathy and Alan are out of hospital, though they'll be staying with my mother for a while; young Ray is getting over his nightmares but he's still terrified of getting into a car - he's phobic about it; but Jenny died. She was buried yesterday. I came straight down after the funeral."

"I'm sorry." There was sympathy in the brusque voice.

"It was just as well. The brain damage she suffered... she's better off dead."

"Knowing that doesn't make it easier." Cowley took a deep breath. "This won't help either. Bodie's left CIS."

"Left... " Doyle's voice trailed off. After a moment he said the one thing that made vague sense. "His phone's not been cut off."

"It's still a CI5 flat; we've not had any of the utilities cut off. Someone will be moved into it in a week or two."

"But... but why? Why did he leave?"

Cowley hesitated. Finally he said slowly, "I discovered that he was selling information on CIS, apparently to some of his mercenary friends - "

"Selling info to the mercs? With respect, Mister Cowley, sir, that is a load of crap! Bodie would no more betray you than he'd massacre a nursery full of babies!"

"I'm sorry, Doyle, but I trust my source. No, I'm not telling you who he is. This one is *my* informant."

"And a totally unreliable one if he told you Bodie's bent! Bodie's the best partner I've ever had, the best partner I could ever hope to have. And I suppose all the others know why he's gone? No wonder they wouldn't look me in the eye! Well, they'd better not try saying in front of me that Bodie was ever anything but completely loyal!"

"Aye, I knew that's what you would say. But Doyle, he didn't even try to defend himself. He just threw his ID, gun, keys, everything, on my desk and walked out. He as good as told me I was right."

"And I suppose it never occurred to you that that was his way of telling you you were talking through a cocked hat? Bodie's got his pride, dammit." He choked - suddenly, to his horror, losing the battle with the tears he had been fighting for two long, worrying, unhappy months. This the absolute last straw.

Cowley remained motionless for a minute, then moved silently to pour two whiskies - one of them a double. As Doyle blew his nose defiantly, as if to deny his loss of control, Cowley, still silently, held the double whisky out to him. He took a healthy swallow and sat gazing unthinkingly at the glass.

"I'm sorry," Cowley said quietly.

"Bodie was completely loyal," Doyle muttered. He took another mouthful of whisky. "Do you know where he went, sir?"

Cowley hesitated again, then said, "Yes, I know. He got a job as bodyguard to one of the underworld bosses."

"What?" Doyle was honestly horrified.

"He met up with one of his mercenary acquaintances and got the offer of a job. He took it."

"I can't blame him," Doyle muttered.

"And Doyle - you're not to try to see him. If you do, you're out. You understand why?"

"Yes, sir." Doyle finished his drink and put the glass on Cowley's desk. He looked directly at Cowley. "Sir - I want to work solo. I don't want another partner. Can you understand that?"

"Aye, Doyle. I can understand it. But it's not the best thing for you."

"I'll tell you when I can face having another partner," Doyle promised, "but right now it's too soon. Bodie was my best mate. I... dammit, I loved him. I love him. This - this is as bad as us losing Jenny. Worse in a way because he's still out there, but on the opposite side. I've got to have time to grieve, sir. To prepare myself for maybe having to shoot him down one day."

"You think that's likely?"

"If he's working for one of the underground bosses it's almost inevitable, isn't it." It was not a question.

Cowley didn't answer. Instead he said quietly, "Do you want any more time off?"

Doyle shook his head. "I've been away too long already. But I could do with a few days with Macklin. I've tried to keep fit - did an hour running every day - but I know I'm stale."

"I'm glad you realise that - saves me having to order it. Take the rest of today off, and report to Macklin at 8 tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir." Doyle moved to the door and paused. "There's nobody in his old flat yet?"

"No, nobody. It's been checked out, of course. All he took were some of his clothes. He even left the food in the fridge."

Doyle managed a weak, half-hearted grin. "If Bodie left food behind, it shows he was really upset," he murmured, and walked out.

Cowley remained motionless, staring at the door, for a long time before finally returning his attention to the reports on his desk.

***

Cowley had said nothing about the locks being changed, and Doyle drove to what had been Bodie's flat. His own letter to his partner - his ex-partner, he reminded himself painfully - lay on the mat, the only item of post there. He picked it up and slid it into his pocket, then  
wandered aimlessly around the flat. In the wardrobe he found some clothes that he recognised as his own, left at Bodie's for the occasions when he stayed over; there was some of Bodie's gear at his flat, too. All Bodie's own clothes were gone.

In the kitchen he found some plastic carrier bags, and he stuffed his clothes into two of them and put them by the door ready to pick up. He drifted back into the living room and looked at the TV set and music centre, both of which he knew were Bodie's own, not part of the furnishings that came with the flat. Bodie's books were still there too, as were his records...

Doyle came to a quick decision. He might never see Bodie again, but damned if he was going to leave his partner's possessions to be enjoyed by anyone else! He retrieved more carrier bags, packed records and books and took several trips to the car to transfer everything. He went back and looked round one more time.

"God knows what happened, Bodie, how the Cow came to misjudge you like that," he said aloud. "But I'll look after your things, I promise." He locked the door behind him and returned to his car.

***

Bodie left his taxi a street away from his destination, watched it drive away, then strode briskly to Vicenti's, arriving some ten minutes before he was due on duty.

He had made a point of getting friendly with the butler who, as he let him in, said, "You'd better get upstairs fast, Will. Mr Vicenti has called a meeting of everyone in his employment. Something unusual must have happened."

Bodie's eyebrows lifted. "That's odd. Thanks, Tom." He ran up the stairs, two at a time, and knocked on Vicenti's door, his routine by now well established.

He entered the room and found Thorsten and Younger with Vicenti, who nodded an acknowledgement of Bodie's presence. "The very man. Bodie, how good are you with a gun?"

Bodie stiffened; this was a question that had not arisen before. Usually the presence of two deadly-looking bodyguards was enough to prevent trouble. "I'm better with a rifle than a handgun, sir, but I can use a handgun easily enough and hit the target spot-on 95% of the time."

"Good. I am meeting one of my business rivals later this afternoon, and I have a score to settle with him. I want him dead."

"Anyone I know, sir?" Bodie asked, keeping his voice reasonably casual.

"You have not met him yet. Pedro Gonzales."

"I do know the name, sir. At the time I quit, CI5 was quite interested in him." He knew Vicenti would already be aware of that.

"I am quite sure that CI5 is still interested in him. There are aspects of his trade that I find distasteful and unnecessary, and which I am sure the law enforcement agencies consider totally unacceptable."

Bodie nodded. "Totally," he agreed, his voice expressionless. It was not his place to express an opinion, but he knew Vicenti would remember what he had said three months previously - that he would have nothing to do with Gonzales' main suspected source of income - luring children into prostitution.

There was a knock on the door, and Steve Cullen, the man Bodie was partnered with that afternoon, entered. A minute later, two more men arrived, quickly followed by others, until finally a total of fourteen men faced Vicenti.

Vicenti wasted no time.

"I have a meeting this afternoon with Pedro Gonzales," he said quietly. "We are meeting at the docks; only Younger, Thorsten, Bodie and Cullen will be obvious to Senor Gonzales. The rest of you will be present, hidden but watchful. When I give the signal, show yourselves. For this occasion I am issuing you with guns; I want as many of Gonzales' men killed as possible."

From behind him, someone - Bodie had no idea who - drew a quick breath. He was startled himself; Vicenti had always made it pretty clear that he did not normally consider arming his men as an option. That he was doing so this time was a clear indication o€ exactly how he felt about Gonzales.

Vicenti unlocked his safe and took from it enough handguns for everyone, and sufficient ammunition to allow each man to reload several times, and passed these around. He then dismissed everyone with directions for getting into place as soon as possible. The four named men who would be accompanying him were instructed to return in two hours.

Bodie took the opportunity to visit his bank, where he deposited most of his month's wages. Vicenti paid well; not since his mercenary days had Bodie been able to stash away quite so much at a time. He was living comfortably, too. Then he walked briskly down the road to a small cafe, where he had a coffee. From there he returned to Vicenti's house and although he was half an hour early, he was not the first to arrive - Younger was already there. Cullen joined them a few minutes later, and finally Thorsten walked in, barely five minutes before they were due to leave.

***

Doyle had passed Macklin's training course with flying colours, determined to show everyone that he didn't need a partner but was perfectly able to manage on his own, and dropped back into the routine as if he had never been away. If he found solo work lonely nobody noticed; if he joked a little less with the other agents, it passed without comment; they all knew his young niece had died, and that it had hit him hard. Only Murphy guessed how much Doyle was missing Bodie, and he was expert at keeping his mouth shut. It was Porter and Alnwick, both relatively new agents, who were insensitive enough to comment, in voices meant to be heard, on Bodie's defection and Doyle's carelessness in not noticing his partner's treachery. Only Murphy's quick grab, wrapping his arms around Doyle while Porter and Alnwick beat a prudent retreat, prevented Doyle from taking on both of them in the rest room.

Now he was sitting in a car, apparently sleeping, but actually watching a stretch of the docks where an informant had told Cowley a shipment of drugs was expected. There had been few signs of life; just after his arrival he had noticed two men, each carrying a bottle, ducking behind a large skip and when they did not reappear decided that they had found a quiet spot to get themselves thoroughly plastered. Apart from them he had seen nobody, and although he had been in place for less than half an hour, he was getting thoroughly bored. Getting? Hell, he *was* thoroughly bored!

There wasn't even any movement on the water, the only ship in sight a rusting tramp moored close by, and he was beginning to think that Cowley's informant had been mistaken. The car that drove past him, stopping a hundred yards or so away, took him by surprise. A Rolls-Royce, and with an engine so sweet it hardly even purred. He knew a moment of absolute envy, followed instantly by the realisation that this could be someone come to pick up a consignment of drugs - a drug dealer would, alas, have the money to allow him to buy just such a luxury car. It sat there for some minutes; then another car arrived, a Jaguar this time, but with just as sweet a purr. It stopped a few yards from the Rolls, five men got out - and he drew in a sharp breath, for even at that distance he clearly recognised one of them as Bodie. And one of his companions was someone whose photo had been on CI5's 'wanted' list for weeks.

*Oh, God, no!* he thought, horrified. *Drugs? Bodie? He couldn't!*

Four men got out of the Rolls; one man from each group walked forwards. He didn't know the one from Bodie's group, but he stiffened as he recognised the other as Gonzales. The two men met; Doyle reached for his RT, thumbed it open. "4.5 to Alpha," he murmured softly. "Pedro Gonzales is at the docks - meeting someone I don't know. Continuing to watch." He put the RT down on the passenger seat, still open.

Suddenly, the man talking to Gonzales gave a quick gesture, and men appeared from around the dock - the two he had seen plus half a dozen more, all shooting. Almost simultaneously, two cars appeared, screaming towards the group, guns firing. He watched as Bodie's group scattered; saw one of them dive forward and push his employer to the ground, shielding him with his own body as the others all threw themselves flat. One of the cars swerved uncontrollably, a tyre shot out, and slammed sideways into a derelict building as Gonzales got back into the Rolls with a deceptively leisurely movement, and the car slid smoothly away.

The occupants scrambled out of the crashed car, diving for shelter. Doyle crouched as low as possible while still watching the battle - a battle that spoke clearly of treachery, probably on both sides - yelling, "Alpha! The two gangs are fighting it out, and Gonzales has made a run for it. I don't think he'll have gone far though - just taken himself out of danger."

***

As the cars holding Gonzales' men appeared, Younger dived forward to shield Vicenti. Bodie and Cullen threw themselves flat, facing in opposite directions as they looked to defend their employer; Thorsten was only a second behind them. They lay there with no shelter as the gun battle raged over their heads and began to move a little away; Gonzales himself had disappeared, Bodie noted, and his car with him.

He glanced round to be sure their party was covering all four directions, just in time to see Thorsten shoot Cullen. Without a second thought he put a bullet in Thorsten just as the other man fired towards Younger.

Moments later he felt the impact of a bullet in his left leg. Ignoring it, he fired at the two men half sheltering behind the crashed car, their guns pointing towards him, knowing that the bullet that hit him must have come from them. Both collapsed. Another car suddenly screamed up, skidding to a stop between him and their enemy; a painfully familiar figure rolled out and, using his own car for shelter, started firing at Gonzales' men.

The arrival of the newcomer ended the fight; those of Gonzales' men who were still on their feet scattered; Vicenti's surviving men moved towards him as Younger scrambled to his feet, blood dripping from his shoulder; one of them helped Vicenti up. Doyle crossed to Bodie and knelt beside him.

"Badly hurt, mate?" he asked.

"Could be worse," Bodie replied quietly even as he raised his hand to clutch at Doyle's arm. "Bullet went right through."

Vicenti looked from Bodie to Doyle. "A friend of yours, Bodie?"

"Ray Doyle, sir. My partner when I was in CI5." He glanced at Doyle. "What the hell are you doin' here, Ray?"

"Cowley had a tip-off about a drugs drop at the dock; I was watchin' for it. Didn't expect this." He gestured round, and shrugged. "Saw you were in trouble - couldn't just leave you to get killed, even though ..." He shrugged again.

Vicenti nodded. "Your arrival was most opportune, Mr Doyle. Thank you. Bodie said you had gone north for an indefinite period?"

"Yes - family problems. Got back about a month ago."

"Ah. Yes, one must give one's family all possible support." With remarkable self-possession, Vicenti turned his attention back to Bodie. "Bodie, did I see you shoot Thorsten?"

"I think he was working for Gonzales, sir. He killed Cullen, and shot Younger. If I hadn't looked round just when I did, he could have picked me off and then shot you before anyone was aware of his treachery."

Vicenti glanced at the ground for a moment, then straightened. "He was one of my top men," he said. "What could Gonzales offer him that he could not get from me?"

"Under-age sex," Doyle growled as a CI5 car drove smoothly into sight and stopped beside the little group. Cowley got out, Murphy, Lucas and McCabe behind him. He went straight to Vicenti.

"I don't like inter-gang feuds, Mr Vicenti," he said quietly.

"I did not start this one," Vicenti replied, "although I do intend to finish it. Gonzales - "

"Is dead. He tried to make a run for it just before Doyle intervened. My men dealt with him." Then he looked down at Bodie, who was still supported against Doyle's shoulder. "How bad?" he asked quietly.

"I've had worse, sir. Bullet went right through my leg."

"There are ambulances on their way. Go with him, Doyle. Then I'll see you in the morning - and you, Bodie, the day after you get out of hospital."

Vicenti stiffened. "I understood Bodie no longer worked for you."

Cowley smiled slightly. "That was not quite accurate. I know you do not like killing, Mr Vicenti, but that the provocation this time was too great to ignore. Bodie's job was to prevent, if possible, your taking the law into your own hands. Yes, I understand why, and I sympathise; but now Gonzales is dead, which is what you wanted - aye, and what I wanted too. His was a vile trade. At the moment, I have no reason to arrest you; I may not approve of what you do, but dealing with your trade is a matter for the police, not for CIS. I ask you - will you let Bodie return to his proper job, without claiming he has betrayed you? You have my word that we will not use anything he may have learned about your operations against you. That was not the purpose of my intervention. Gang warfare is the last thing London needs right now."

Vicenti looked from Cowley to Bodie; to Doyle, and back again to Cowley. "He did save my life," he said, "and rid my organisation of a real traitor. Very well. There is no feud between us." Then he sighed. "My only regret is that I did not kill Gonzales myself. You will send a team in to rescue the children?"

"It's being done now," Cowley replied quietly.

Doyle looked at Cowley; at Bodie; and at Cowley again. "You mean all that about Bodie selling info was lies? This was an undercover assignment? Didn't you trust me enough to let me know that?"

"If you had known, would you have been able to maintain the pretence that he'd walked out? Considering your circumstances?" Cowley asked. "Yes, I know you defended him most vocally - but if you had known the truth, how would that have affected your response to what you heard certain agents saying?"

Doyle looked back at Bodie. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know."

His voice was almost drowned out by the sirens as the ambulances finally arrived.

***

At the hospital, Bodie was counted low priority compared to some of the wounded so he had to wait till nearly last before he was seen. The wound was cleaned and bandaged, antibiotic injected, and the doctor looked thoughtfully at his patient. "You would be better to remain in hospital overnight - " he began.

"No," Bodie interrupted. "Not unless I absolutely must."

"Is there anyone at home?"

"Yes," Doyle, who had insisted on being present, put in. "I have a spare room. He'll come home with me."

"In that case, we won't take up a bed here. I'll give you an appointment for a clinic next week, Mr Bodie. Until then keep the bandage dry - that means strip washes rather than a bath or shower."

Bodie sighed. "All right." It wouldn't be the first time he'd been condemned to strip washes. He could live with it - especially since the undercover assignment was finished.

***

Doyle saw him settled in a comfortable armchair then went to get a meal ready. He decided on a quick fry-up, knowing that what to him was fast convenience, Bodie thoroughly enjoyed. As they ate, Bodie said, "So how's the family? Better, if you're back to work?"

"Jenny died. Her parents are going to be fine, and they're out of hospital, staying with me mum. But it'll take time for them all to get over Jenny."

"I'm sorry," Bodie said quietly.

"I've had time to get used to it," Doyle said quietly. "It was coming back and finding you gone that really hit hardest... especially when Cowley said why you'd gone. He gave even me the cover story." He grinned. "I told him he was a fool."

"What did the others have to say?"

"The older ones - nothing, except that they couldn't understand it. I reckon they didn't really believe it, but even they didn't guess you'd gone undercover. A couple of the newer lads tried getting sarkie. Murph kept me from flattening them - but I heard them muttering to each other once or twice after that. Couldn't ever make out what they were saying, though. Maybe it was as well. So exactly what was the job?"

"You heard the Cow. The danger of gang warfare. Apparently Gonzales had picked up a relative of Vicenti's - a second cousin, something like that, fourteen years old. She'd had a row with her parents, decided to do a vanishing act to frighten them. She'd meant to stay with a friend, but one of Gonzales' men found her first. Gonzales shot her full of drugs and pushed her onto the street, but she had more guts than he realised; the first chance she got, she headed for home, but she was on the street for nearly a fortnight before that chance arose - he'd had someone keeping an eye on her, and she knew it. But she finished with one client rather faster than her guard had expected, and caught him on the hop, apparently."

"And the family being of Italian origin... "

"Yes. The Cow decided to get me into Vicenti's organisation if possible, using Bert Younger as a recruiting agent. Bert was a merc, he was someone I knew, though not well, and we knew he was one of Vicenti's men. We knew the bar he usually went to - I went there, made contact with him, and by good luck he was able to get me into Vicenti's gang. There was no way I'd've gone along with joining up with Gonzales and, give him his due, the Cow didn't expect me to.

"Nobody realised Thorsten was working for Gonzales, though - he'd been with Vicenti for several years, and he was good at his work - nobody guessed he was anything other than completely loyal. I reckon Gonzales liked to know what the other bosses were up to - I'd guess he had these spies in the camps of all the other gangland bosses, but of course there's no way to know, and these two-faced buggers'll just stick where they are now."

"And that explains why your flat is still empty," Doyle said thoughtfully. "The Cow just said someone would be moving into it soon."

"I thought he'd move someone else in right away - that I'd be assigned somewhere else if I ever got back off the job. I did half-think of leaving my TV and stuff at your place - " Bodie began.

"But that would have been a giveaway, if I'd come home and found it," Doyle finished. "I can see that. Anyway, it's all here now."

"It is?"

"Well, I thought the Cow'd be reassigning the flat any time - and damned if I was going to leave your things for someone else to use. I've got your TV and music centre, your records and your books, all stashed away in my spare room...

"Ray... I don't know what to say... " He reached out and caught Doyle's hand, gripping it tightly. "You trusted me, even though the Cow told you... "

"Of course I did, you berk," Doyle told him roughly, noticing the glint of a tear in Bodie's eye. "Ah, cummere!" He slipped his arms round his partner and hugged him fiercely. Bodie wrapped his arms round Doyle and clung tightly. His body quivered with the sobs he was suppressing; Doyle lowered his head, laying his cheek against Bodie's hair. "It's all right, mate. 'S just me. Cry if you want. I won't tell."

"God, Ray... I didn't expect to see you again... I didn't expect to survive this one." His voice was muffled against Doyle's chest.

"Why on earth not?"

"The whole setup... It was bound to be a bloodbath at the end. I was able to let Cowley know when it was about to start, but even so... If I hadn't... once the shooting actually began... If Thorsten had shot me first instead of Steve... I'd've been kicking up the daisies by now, and you wouldn't even have known."

"The Cow had me there on surveillance, on pretty short notice now I think about it - said he was expecting a drugs delivery. But now I reckon he really had me there to give you backup. He knew that if it came down to it, that's what I'd do." He rubbed his cheek against the top of Bodie's head.

Bodie looked up; Doyle drew in a sharp breath at the expression in his partner's eyes. He pulled Bodie close once more, rubbed his face against Bodie's, and almost without conscious volition they found their mouths touching - and then they were kissing fiercely. At last they drew apart and stared at each other, a touch of bemusement on both their faces. "God, Bodie!" Doyle gasped. "That... that was... I've never turned on so fast!"

"Me, too," Bodie said, more controlled than his partner because the pain in his leg was demanding some attention even after the painkillers he had been given. "I want you, Ray. Really want you. Need you."

Doyle unfastened his waistband and hauled down his zip, then reached to unfasten Bodie's trousers. As he pulled down Bodie's zip, Bodie reached forward and gripped his erection firmly.

"Ah!" Doyle gasped. "Feels good, mate." He wrapped his fingers around Bodie and they began milking each other desperately, both so fiercely aroused they were unable to delay. They came moments apart, and leaned limply against each other. "Ray, sunshine," Bodie whispered. "Wanted that for so long ..."

"I think I must've wanted it too," Doyle answered after a moment. "'M gonna want it again, you know."

"Think I won't?" Doyle could hear the smile in Bodie's voice. "I love you. Think I always will. Sorry if that embarrasses you... "

"It's good that you do, 'cos I love you too, you damn' idiot."

They nuzzled together for some moments in silent content, still enjoying the relaxation of orgasm.

"Didn't know if you'd ever even come back to London," Bodie muttered at last. "Your family might have needed you for months yet. Years, even. Was the main reason I agreed to do the job - I didn't really want to do it. Hate undercover work."

"Well, it did look bad for the first couple of weeks, but after that it was clear enough that Kath and Alan would be all right, it was just goin' to take a little time. But by the time I knew that, you hadn't phoned for over a week."

"Because I was on the job."

Doyle nodded. "Didn't worry me when I couldn't get you - I reckoned you had to be busy somewhere - but it did hurt a bit that you didn't manage to phone me."

"Couldn't, even from a public box. Might have blown my cover. You know what it's like. I only managed to phone the Cow a couple of times - once to let him know I'd got in with Vicenti, and again when I knew the balloon was ready to go up."

They were silent for some moments, exchanging lazy kisses, then - "Ray?"

"Mm?"

"What'll we say to Cowley?"

"Well, he already knows that I love you."

"He does?"

"Yeah. Told him so when he told me you'd gone. But even then he didn't tell me the truth. I can follow his reasoning - I would have found it hellish hard not to try getting in touch, but I don't have to like it."

"So he already knows we're lovers?"

"Well, until tonight we weren't," Doyle pointed out. "If he'd asked I'd've had to say no; but he didn't ask. Didn't occur to me at the time; suppose I just reckoned he thought I meant as a friend. Come to that, that was what I meant... then."

"What do you bet he knew that but guessed it could be more?" Bodie grinned. "Not much you can hide from the Old Man. All he needs is half a clue."

"There are times he doesn't even need that," Doyle muttered.

Bodie chuckled, but then he became serious. "Actually, the real reason he didn't tell you was probably because he wasn't sure I'd survive either. Might have felt it'd be easier on you if you thought I'd gone bad than been gunned down on a job."

Doyle didn't even have to think about it. "He'd have been wrong. I hope he'd have told me the truth... if it had come to it."

"And we'll have to tell him the truth about us." There was no doubt, no hesitation, in Bodie's voice.

Doyle nodded. "And if he doesn't like it, tough." He gave Bodie a quick kiss. "I'll tell him in the morning."

"Sure you don't want to wait till we can see him together? Or no - wait - he said he wanted to see me the day after I got out of hospital. They didn't keep me in, so that's tomorrow for me, too."

"You're hurt. If he's going to bawl us out for it, better it's me alone. But somehow I don't think he will; like you said, he probably guessed. He accepted it without batting an eyelid when I said I loved you. You take a day off, go in the day after tomorrow." Doyle fell silent for a moment, then grunted and moved restlessly. "Sorry, mate, need a slash. An' I think it might be a good idea if we had a shave. Then let's go to bed - be more comfortable for what I have in mind than sitting on the sofa."

Bodie grinned. "You're on."

His arm round Doyle's shoulders and Doyle's arm round his waist to support him, they headed for the bathroom.


End file.
